


Sins of the Author

by The Incubus (DrakonNightengale)



Series: Geniuses, Sins and Deceits [1]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Religion, Religion bashing, Science Bashing, Spirituality Bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:06:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27628585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrakonNightengale/pseuds/The%20Incubus
Summary: Perhaps maybe it's worth bringing this back anyways.After all, Death to the Author or the story.This is a collection of angry, philosophical ramblings mixed in with themes of the characters.
Series: Geniuses, Sins and Deceits [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020061





	Sins of the Author

**Author's Note:**

> I have strong feelings, I couldn't write my novel fanfic so you get this instead. I'm not kind in it. I'm not gonna be.
> 
> Every story has a purpose. This is a vent fic without venting.

Once in our lives, we always ask the question, why are we here?

Maybe it’s after a national tragedy, a burning building or a raging forest fire.

Maybe it’s the family death you refuse to acknowledge as you clutch your chest and your eyes burn.

Perhaps, it is after you feel the first hit of trauma, unrepairable at the time. 

It could be that when you try and uncover yourself only to find nothing underneath.

Could you look into the mirror and see a reflection of yourself, or would you see the trauma?

If you held a gun to your head and pulled the trigger, is it you or an entity beyond comprehension?

\--

“Why do you wear that if you’re not practicing?” Tord asks lazily as Tom fiddles with his crucifix.

_Because I need the comfort._

“Fashion, why are you carrying around porn magazines and acting like it’s art?”

“Bold choice of words, instigating this time?”

“Always.”

\--

Cosmic interference, the explosion of the big bang, spirituality, deities. Many have an answer to why we’re here, drenched in the cold rain, waiting for something higher than us to answer us.

Some turn to science, waiting for their prayers to respond as if it’s not a confirmation based upon bias that later on could be recounted by someone much smarter than them. Worshipping science as the holy saviour, such is their right when rejecting other _lower_ ideas. Indeed, if it regards women or someone who could bring an actual answer, they’ll turn it away and clap themselves on the back for such a deed.

Some turn to God and his holy decadence. Giving into the words of a book written by misogynists who thought of nothing but being powerful—torn away by those who control the narrative. Better than those who follow a lesser, more barbaric way of life, most certainly.

Some turn to the wisdom of those claiming to see beyond, taking their advice on sage oil and burning lavender. Surely these spiritualists know the answer. After all, they’ve sought it out long before any other and aren’t tied to a corrupt ideology.

The answers surely lie beyond, with a mystical all defining power, we sheep must conform to one answer given by such forces.

\--

“Do you ever pray?” He asks gun to his skull, blank eyes down at the loser.

“As much as you use the metal on your cock.” He responds, the rain washing away the blood as he lay on the ground, metal sitting between his eyes.

“Always one to escalate.”

“I think this time it might be you.”

Neither of them knew who pulled the trigger first.

\--

I used to go to church when I was seven. I was in Sunday School, and I remember being happy to be in there. I had a bible and faith in God.

Multiple, if truth be told. Hades, Poseidon and God were all an influence on me.

One would say it was that which caused my life tragedy, not to give myself entirely to a deity which would control my life.

Others would describe it as just coincidence.

Some would describe it as a consequence of not being the best I was.

I think every single person should shut the fuck up and keep it to themselves.

\--

He’s sitting there, bandages over his head as he lies down on the blanket. They couldn’t afford a bed for someone like him.

Friend to a tyrant.

It never mattered as he stared up at the man with one eye.

“You asked if I prayed.”

“Five years ago, now I don’t care.”

“What about you? Do you pray to the science you worship?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Only because you refuse to admit worship.”

This time, he truly dies.

\--

Why are we here? There’s an answer waiting for every person. Perhaps you’ll never find it, buried in your work trying to achieve a higher status to get anyway in your insignificant life.

Maybe when you’re sitting alone, trying to busy yourself because your failings in a corrupt society left you crippled without a choice.

The answer might be there when you open your heart to love. Or when the love shatters.

In the end, the answer is yours and nobody else’s.

To ascribe otherwise would be to overwrite another’s beliefs.


End file.
